


believe me (i'm thinking of you)

by stingerpicnic (ibelieveinfiction)



Series: it's a small world after all [3]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Gift Giving, Light Angst, M/M, Purring, Winter, but also some flustered moomin in there, but only at the beginning and it gets better, cat Snufkin rights babey, flustered snufkin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinfiction/pseuds/stingerpicnic
Summary: “My dearest Moomintroll,” he starts, because he's decided that this is a letter for the sake of his own sanity and that is the way that letters should start. And Moomintroll really is quite dear to him, more dear than he could possibly know, though he hopes he will soon. “I've only just started my journey but I've already…”Moomintroll gave him such a wonderful gift. Snufkin wants to return the favor.





	believe me (i'm thinking of you)

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this post](https://stingerpicnic.tumblr.com/post/184788425842/moomintroll-can-must-should-and-will-say-i-can)
> 
> It's project onto Snufkin hours guys, gals, and nonbinary pals
> 
> Brief content warning: the first scene contains Snufkin experiencing a bit of a negative thought spiral, specifically concerning himself and how he acts within the context of his relationship with Moomin (he is NOT being a reliable narrator in this instance and even admits to that later). I don't think it's too bad, but I also don't trust myself to be a gauge for how it might affect anyone else so I'm warning for it anyways. So if you're feeling a little raw right now it might be best to come back later.
> 
> If you'd like to skip only that scene, it starts with the paragraph starting "And it would probably help Moomintroll, which is even better than helping himself." and ends with the first line of three dots "..." in the middle of the page signifying a scene change/passage of time.
> 
> Take care of yourselves darlings

Snufkin is going to _die,_ he's sure if it.

He had always thought it would be the cold that would do him in. Or he would make a mistake and eat some bad berries. Or maybe he would slip in exactly the wrong spot and fall off a cliff. Deaths that made sense for someone like him.

But no. None of those things are going to be what kills him. That would leave him with too much of his dignity in tact, apparently.

No, instead, it’s going to be _Moomintroll_ that kills him. With just _far_ too many feelings.

He is going to be killed by what must be the sweetest, kindest, warmest, most lovely being in the entire world and it’s all because he can’t deal with the feelings brought about by a simple _love letter_ . He is going to be found dead alone in his tent clutching a book. His face will probably still be bright red, too, because at this point he would be surprised if it _ever_ went back to it's normal shade. How embarrassing.

He really shouldn't have expected anything different, though. He'd only _barely_ been able to handle the letter he had received for last winter's travels. It might have done wonders fighting back his fears that he might come back to find Moomintroll had forgotten him, that he had replaced him for someone who _didn’t_ abandon him every year for the winter, but it had still stained his face a lasting red and made a, frankly, _mortifyingly_ _loud_ purr start up in his chest every time he read through it. And it had only been a single page!

Granted, he didn't think anyone had ever been asked to deal with something _quite_ like this before. It wasn't everyday that you received a love letter the length of a literal, actual _novel,_ after all. But still. It was a less than dignified cause of death.

There were worse ways to go, surely. In fact, this might be one of the better ways. At least he gets to feel Moomintroll's affection for him while it's happening. It almost feels like he's _there_ with him and it's _amazing._ He really could die happy if this was it.

But there are also less embarrassing ways to go, surely.

Maybe if he goes outside and buries himself in a snow drift people will think it was the hypothermia that got him. He had left late enough and he isn’t far enough south yet for it to be too warm for it. But, _no,_ that would probably make Moomintroll sad, which he doesn't want. A knife in his heart was a knife in his own, after all. Or maybe more like a sword in his own. Seeing Moomintroll sad always tore him up inside something awful. Seeing him cry was even worse.

It’s looking like he’s going to have to try and survive this, unfortunately. For Moomintroll if nothing else.

Besides, he had tried that already and it hadn't helped any. His face had felt just as hot after as it had before.

At least Moomintroll had been right when he'd said the book would keep him warm through the winter. He doesn't think his face has ever felt this hot for so long in his _life_ and there's a very warm feeling that's curled up and settled in his chest and doesn't seem to plan on leaving any time soon.

The only mercy he has is that there's no one to see him. Of course, that was the entire reason he waited until after he left for his winter travels to start reading anything past the bits he saw when it was first given to him, but still. It was a mercy all the same. Even if it would be stripped from him the second anyone got within a, frankly, embarrassingly large radius of his tent and heard his very obvious purring.

Really, he _should_ have seen this coming. He hadn't even been able to _look_ at the book for _days_ without feeling his face grow hot and having a sudden urge to bury it in the closest thing available. He’d barely even been able to think about it for it too long. And he hadn't even opened it again after the first time!

And stars help him the one time he considered asking Moomintroll to _read it aloud_ to him. Asking him to settle down with him in the familiar comfort of his tent and read the impossibly sweet words he'd written for him, _about_ him….

He had been sure he would combust on the spot and leave nothing but a pile of ash for the wind to sweep away.

He doesn't even know quite _how_ he's survived these last couple of days without combusting already. Or maybe exploding. Sure, he has his pillow to scream into and the hard ground beneath his bedroll is, well, _grounding,_ but the sheer _size_ of the emotion that's filled him has been threatening to make him burst at the seams for _days_ now.

Normally, he doesn't like people talking about him, doesn't even like them thinking about him too much. But Moomintroll is _different_ and he can make an exception, just this once. Moomintroll, he’s found, is the exception to most of the rules and boundaries he set in his life.

Besides, it’s only fair. He thinks of him just as much. Hypocrisy isn't very polite after all.

 _Stars,_ winter has scarcely even started and all he wants to do is see Moomintroll again. He wants to run into his waiting arms and hug him for all he worth, burying his face in his impossibly soft fur and feeling the rhythm of their hearts beating together. It always makes such a wonderful tune, he thinks. Perfect in ways he's never quite been able to match with any instrument.

He wants to lead Moomintroll to one of the many caves he's found in his explorations of the forest around Moominvalley. Where they'll be alone without the prying eyes and ears of the valley's inhabitants, because he just knows he would never get any of the words out if he thought there was any risk of being overheard. He wants to pour his heart out, just like Moomintroll has done already, and tell him how much he loves him, tell him _exactly_ the feeling that seizes his heart when he sees him smile, tell him how _hard_ it is to be apart from him, to create the separation himself even as he needs it.

But he can't do any of that, not yet. Winter hasn't even gotten into full-swing yet and while he _could_ still make the trek back to Moominvalley pretty easily, Moomintroll still needs to hibernate and Snufkin still needs the time to travel alone to recharge himself fully before spring. As much as he sometimes wishes that wasn't the reality of the situation, he knows he'll only grow to regret it if he turns back so soon. He _can't_ turn back right now. He _absolutely cannot_ let himself do anything that could _possibly_ end in his affection for Moomintroll curdling into resentment even a little bit. He won't do it. It would shatter his heart.

But… maybe there _was_ something he could do to give himself some type of emotional relief. Release some of the pressure he could feel building inside him from all these feelings he can't speak just yet. Something besides just slamming his face down into his pillow and screaming again anyways.

And it would probably help Moomintroll, which is even better than helping himself. Moomintroll, who was so selfless and sweet. Snufkin remembers that he had started this entire thing because he mentioned just _once_ in a moment of selfish vulnerability that he wanted something like this. And it _had_ been an entirely selfish wish, too, hadn't it? To wish he could have the sweetness and warmth of Moomintroll with him through the winter even as he refused to take him with him, refused to _be_ with him.

And he knows, he _knows_ that it hurts Moomintroll that he has to leave. Even as he insists that it doesn't hurt so much anymore, that he understands, that he _trusts_ him.

Snufkin knows that none of that means it _doesn't_ hurt anymore. A dulled hurt is still a hurt all the same.

But still, _still,_ Moomintroll had made him such a _wonderful_ gift. Because sometimes he had nightmares about being forgotten. Because he said _once,_ more than a year ago, that he wanted it. Because he _loved him_ even when Snufkin couldn't bring himself to fully believe him.

And what had he done in return? Snufkin feels his joy turn to ashes in his mouth and warmth that had suffused his chest turn cold. He knows the answer. He hadn't done anything, not really. A few words here and there to assure him. A short goodbye letter that didn't even come close to conveying the scope of his feelings for him. A possession or two left with him as assurance he would come back even as he insisted he didn’t care for material possessions. He had even requested that Moomintroll be _more_ vocal about how much he missed him and _still_ he’s done nothing.

He’s allowed himself to grow complacent in their dynamic. Since they met and parted for the first time he's set boundaries and rules of conduct and expectations and he's barely changed them even through the changes in their relationship. He's barely even _thought_ about changing them.

He returns to Moominvalley in the spring. He leaves in the fall. He writes a single page letter, no more than a couple sentences really, to tell Moomintroll he's leaving and to have a good hibernation even though he's seen off in person now. Moomintroll is sad that he's leaving and misses him. He travels through the winter and misses Moomintroll as well.  The cycle repeats.

He's allowed small changes, here and there. Some years, like this year, he has left later than others. Some years he's left without telling anyone beforehand. Some years he leaves something with Moomintroll so he'll be confident he will return. Once, he forgot to leave a letter at all.

But it is generally the same every year and every year he leaves Moomintroll lonely and sad and longing for him at some point. He's hurt him every year and he's done very little to fix that in the grand scheme of things.

The worst part is he knows that he, in some small corner of his mind that quivers in fear of being abandoned, _likes_ that it hurts him.

He feels like a right terrible boyfriend now. A terrible _friend,_ even. And he even feels guilty about _that._ He knows the point of Moomintroll’s gift wasn't to make him upset. He knows that he would be very upset himself if he knew what was happening right now. He _had_ been upset when he thought Snufkin was upset because of his gift. At the time, Snufkin hadn't let him finish, _couldn't_ have let him finish, hearing the desperation and heartbreaking _distress_ in Moomintroll's voice and seeing his eyes go glassy like he was about to _cry_ had threatened to _tear him apart_ once it penetrated the fog that had taken over his mind in his awe of the gift, but he’s sure that Moomintroll had been about to offer to get rid of the book. He probably _would_ have burned it to ash if Snufkin had said he would like him to. Even after he had poured so much time and effort and _love_ into it. Even after he had poured so much of _himself_ into it.

Snufkin has to do something, he _needs_ to. Because he _loves_ Moomintroll. He loves him with all of his heart and soul and he would _never_ leave him, not permanently, not for more than a season. It has been a long time since he has even been able to _pretend_ that he _could._ His very soul is too entangled in this beautiful, wonderful, _lovely_ thing they have together for it to be any other way.

But has he ever really, truly sat Moomintroll down and expressed that to him? That he loves him so much he swears he would die without him? That the world never seems to shine as bright without him? That leaving him behind feels more and more like leaving a part of _himself_ behind?

He hasn’t. Not really. He's alluded to it. He's implied. He's talked all around it. He's done just about everything but just _say_ it, frank and undeniable.

And why hasn't he said it? The very thing that Moomintroll likely needs to hear?

He's told himself that it's because he's no good with words. Not when it comes to things he genuinely feels. Not when it comes to being so honest, so vulnerable. He's told himself that the fear of not having the right words was what's stayed his tongue and silenced his voice. He's told himself that Moomintroll already knows he loves him, knows him well enough to read between his words, knows he thinks of him when he's away. So it's okay if he doesn't say anything deeper, that he doesn't _do_ anything to prove any of it. But that's not it, not really.

He's said in the past that knowing one's self is the most important thing anyone can do. Yet here he is, a _coward_ scared of his own heart.

He wants to tell him. He _needs_ to tell him. He needs to _try._ Moomintroll deserves that, at least, and he loves him enough to do it.

He has writing utensils and paper in his pack, but he certainly doesn't have enough, not for what he wants to do. But, if he's remembering correctly, which he almost always is, there should be a small town just a couple days walk from where he is now where could probably get a nice enough journal. He would have to do some work and interact with far too many strangers to be able to afford it, but it would be worth it. For Moomintroll, _anything_ is worth it.

He loves Moomintroll enough to want to be a better version of himself. He loves him enough to _try_ to be a better version of himself, even if it's a process that takes him months or even _years_ to complete. He _wants_ to do it. He has to start some time and he’s starting today.

Mind made up, he closes the book and extinguishes his lantern. He doesn't think he can read any more tonight, not after the realization he's just had and the way it makes his stomach turn.

Besides, he wants to get an early start on his journey in the morning, so he really should be going to sleep early anyways.

He curls up tight under his suddenly much needed winter blanket and tries to ignore the piercing feeling of the ice in his chest. He can feel every meter of distance he has put between him and Moomintroll and it makes him feel oh so very _small._

He hopes he feels a bit better in the morning. He would hate to disappoint Moomintroll and waste his very nice, very _thoughtful_ gift.

…

Snufkin does feel better in the morning. A bit hollow, but still better.

In the light of day he feels a little silly for being so dramatic. He probably overreacted. He probably drew some incorrect conclusions too in his emotional state.

He really should be more careful about letting his thoughts wander unsupervised.

He catches sight of the book lying next to him. He could probably read some more now without sending himself into a spiral. He _wants_ to read some more. He'll just have to be careful about it.

So he sits up, pulls the book onto his lap, finds the page he had left off on, and starts reading. _Slowly_ this time so he can stop and not overclock himself like that again.

After a few minutes, he sets the book aside, face far redder that it had been and a soft, happy purr vibrating his chest.

Oh, he really does feel _quite_ silly now. Of course Moomintroll loves him. Of course Moomintroll really can read him like he's a book himself. Of course Moomintroll has heard all the words he hasn't been able to say.

But, even though he _was_ being silly last night, he still wants to go through with the plan he had made. It was still a good idea. It would still be a very nice thing to do.

So he gets up, finds himself some breakfast, packs up his tent, and starts walking in the direction of his new destination feeling a lot more whole than he had an hour before.

A few days later, he's feeling tired but accomplished. He has a new journal in his hands, just like he wanted.

It had taken him a little longer than he had estimated for him to be able for him to afford it. He supposes he could have gone for a cheaper one, but _this_ was the one wanted to give to Moomintroll. It’s blue like Moomintroll's eyes and has a minimalistic rendition of a dove on the front cover. He quite likes it. He thinks it's _perfect._

He almost can't wait to start.

It's not until later when he's in his tent and poised to start writing that he freezes up.

Snufkin lets out a frustrated sound. He just doesn't know what to _say._

Well, no, that's not right. He knows _what_ he wants to say. He wants to say that he thinks of Moomintroll all the time. He wants to say that in all his years of traveling he has _never,_ not even _once_ met someone as wonderful as him. He wants to say he’s grateful that Moomintroll has agreed to be _his,_ that he somehow, impossibly, gets to look into blue eyes and say “I love you” like he's wanted to for years and then he even gets to _hear it back_. He wants to say all the things Moomintroll makes him feel, tell him about warm feelings thick and sweet like syrup that that seem to stick to him for days on end and keep him warm even when they’re apart, about cool feelings that soothe his nerves and calm his mind, about cozy feelings that heal his heart and fill him with fluff until he's certain he'll suffocate and do it happily.

He wants to tell him he's so unbelievably thankful that Moomintroll understands his need to be alone, that he lets him go every winter despite not being happy about it, that he _accepts_ this part of him. Because he _does_ need it, the time alone, he knows he does. His winter journeys smooth something rough in him that nothing else can _quite_ reach.

But, _stars,_ he needs Moomintroll too.

He just doesn't know _how_ to say any of that. Not in a way that might even _resemble_ coherency.

He really _has_ never been good with words when it comes to these things. He has such _big_ emotions and he's never been able to find words big enough to describe him. Moomintroll has always been better at that. More comfortable with his feelings and more comfortable with relating them.

But… last night _had_ been the new moon and he _had_ used his wish on the hope that he would be able to find the words he needed. So, maybe all he needs to do is start writing? Maybe he’ll stumble upon the right words. Wishes usually worked out in strange ways like that.

But how to start? He can't stumble upon _anything_ if he doesn't start _somewhere_.

...Well, Moomintroll _has_ always enjoyed hearing about his winter travels and he _will_ be giving the entire journal to him. So, maybe he should start there? Talking about his travels so far, however limited they may be given that it's still so early, wouldn't be too hard. He tells him about his travels all the time.

Yes, he decides, he'll start there. It'll be just like writing him a normal letter. Only this time he'll make an effort to keep writing after a couple sentences. He has always preferred to keep his letters short in the past, not believing in the value of unnecessary details and tangents and _feelings_ . Not when he could communicate his point without them. But he'll make an exception for Moomintroll, because he deserves better than the bare minimum from this. And also because if he doesn't then he'll _never_ get around to talking about how he feels.

 _“My dearest Moomintroll,”_ he starts, because he's decided that this is a letter for the sake of his own sanity and that is the way that letters should start. And Moomintroll really is quite dear to him, more dear than he could possibly know, though he hopes he will soon. _“I've only just started my journey but I've already…”_

…

What he's doing, he thinks a couple weeks later, might actually be closer to journaling than to letter writing. Or maybe it exists in some gray area right in between both of those things. Or maybe he's entirely off the mark and it's some whole _other_ thing he hasn’t thought of. He doesn't really care enough about the semantics to figure out exactly _what_ it is he's doing might be called, just enough to register that his initial thoughts about it hadn't been entirely correct.

He's never seen the merits of journaling past making notes about practical things like which plants are edible and which of those can be used as medicine but he _does_ see the merits of writing all kinds of things that have no practical value _at all_ in _this_ journal, so he knows it can't really be that. But some of the words he writes don't really feel like _letter_ _words_ , so it can't be entirely like letter writing either.

Whatever it is, he finds that he likes it an inordinate amount. It almost feels like he's having a conversation with Moomintroll while still being gloriously alone. It's not as great as actually being _with_ him, but it _is_ good.

He almost feels guilty for being so selfish again, but he clamps down on the feeling, tossing it into a box in the back of his mind and slapping a lock on it. He doesn't need to be feeling that way about this. He’s being ridiculous. Moomintroll loves him and wants him to be happy. And it’s not like he’s _replacing_ him with a journal of all things. He would never replace him with _anything_.

He's not as emotionally volatile as he had been earlier in the winter. All this alone time really has been helping. He knows Moomintroll would be happy about that.

Writing to Moomintroll through the journal is more calming than he had thought it would it be. It's… nice, to talk about his journey, even to talk about his feelings in this context. Far nicer than he would have ever expected. And easier too. He isn't being rushed, not even by himself, so he has time to take breaks and choose his words and _breathe_ and not get tongue tied. There are no social expectations that he has to try his best to meet, no difficult unspoken rules. The words he writes are between Moomintroll and himself. He knows Moomintroll would never judge him if his words are awkward or untraditional, not even if he were standing in front of him and messing all of this up. It’s just easier to do on paper, very far apart from each other.

It's still, of course, a very emotional affair. He wants Moomintroll to be able to _feel_ his feelings through the pages and to do that he needs to feel them himself, lest he describe them incorrectly. But he's making an effort to mostly recall the _good_ feelings, because that is what Moomintroll would like best. He thinks it would make Moomintroll happy, too, that he’s letting himself feel happy and in love.

It’s surprising, he thinks, how much emotion he’s feeling yet how _calm_ he feels about it when it comes to his writing. It’s certainly not normal for him. He isn’t complaining.

It can be a little difficult to find things to say, sometimes. He’s too used to keeping things short for it to not be. But he concentrates and tries to think of the sorts of things Moomintroll would ask him if he were really talking with him face to face, which helps. And it’s getting easier the longer this goes on.

Moomintroll is always so interested in what he experiences while he’s away. He asks him endless questions if he doesn’t stop him. He wants to know _everything_ , so Snufkin makes sure to pay attention to everything. He usually does pay attention, if only so he’ll be able to answer Moomintroll’s questions, but it’s different this time. Usually he would only choose to speak about the exciting parts of his journey, so it didn’t matter so much if all the parts in between got a little blurred together, though he _did_ pay attention to those moments. They just usually weren’t worth taking particular note of. At least, not every one of them. This time, he’s making sure he pays more attention to the _all_ of the ordinary moments.

It’s not a bad thing. His view has tilted, just a bit, just _enough,_ and suddenly he's seeing everything in a different light. Everything is the same but it’s also _different._ Even towns and cities he’s visited before seem new and fresh. It’s revitalized his traveling experience and he feels even better for it. And he has Moomintroll to thank for it.

He’s falling in love with the world again. It’s a bright, happy, _exhilarating_ feeling, to fall in love with the journey all over again and not just the solitude it gives him. He makes sure he writes it down. Moomintroll should know what he's inspired. He would be happy to hear it, he thinks.

 _Stars,_ he might even be falling in love with _Moomintroll_ all over again, too. Through the words he’s written in that big, _wonderful_ novel of a love letter he had given him and even through his own thoughts and words. Every word he reads has so _much_ of Moomintroll’s love, his care, his kindness, his _personality_ laced through it. Every time he finds that something new about something he’s seen a thousand time he remembers that it was _Moomintroll_ that sparked this wonder he’s feeling. Every time he _thinks_ about him Snufkin swears he remembers something else he loves.

And he thinks about him a lot. He thinks about him _all the time._ It seems every thought he has is tied to Moomintroll _somehow._ Every time he takes in the beauty of another southern flower he thinks of Moomintroll and the flower crowns he makes so often to set atop his hat in the spring and summer. He thinks of just how _pretty_ Moomintroll might look with a flower crown of his own made of _these_ flowers. Every time he sees the sunset he thinks of Moomintroll and all the other sunsets they had enjoyed together, of evenings spent on the beach, on hilltops, on their bridge.

He finds he doesn’t mind it. Any of it.

He must look like a lovestruck fool, wandering around and sighing over pretty flowers and  beautiful sunsets.

He’s got stars in his eyes and he _knows_ it must be obvious. He finds he can’t bring himself to mind that, either.

He doesn’t know how long all of this will last. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to keep this up before he needs to find something more stable. But for now he’s willing to go wherever this takes him. It’s a wonderful experience and he certainly isn’t complaining.

…

It’s a couple weeks later that he finds he’s finally started to settle down into a properly comfortable rhythm of writing and reading and traveling.

He’s calmed down a bit from the fervor of the last couple weeks. While he really did enjoy it, it was a lot to expect to be able to keep up over the entire winter. That much emotion all the time like that was a _very good_ sort of exhausting that left him tired in the best of ways, but it was exhausting nonetheless.

He likes what he has settled into much better. It suits him more.

He travels and adventures and plays his harmonica much the same as he has in years previous, but now he’s always on the lookout for things he thinks Moomintroll would like to hear about. When he spots something or he experiences something interesting enough or odd enough to note, he doesn’t hesitate to take out his journal and write or sketch something. Sometimes he takes it out just to write about interesting thoughts he has.

At night, after he sets up his tent and makes his dinner, he settles down to read out of the book Moomintroll had given him. It never fails to warm him up inside. It never seems to fail to warm him up _outside_ either, if the heat he feels radiating from his face has anything to say about it. And it always sparks up a purr in his chest and puts a wide smile on his face, though that usually ends up hidden in his pillow before long.

It’s a nice thing to do before bed, but it’s intensely emotional and it’s a bit difficult to sleep with the awe stealing his breath and the joy bouncing around inside his ribcage. So, he takes out his journal again and writes to Moomintroll about how he’s feeling and how much he misses him and how _unbelievably_ lucky he is until the emotions fade to a more manageable level.

Most times he doesn’t bother putting the journal away before he falls asleep, so it’s still next to him when he wakes up. This has lead to what has to be some of the sloppiest, most embarrassing entries in the journal when he almost inevitably tries to write something when he’s still half-asleep.

Really, what else is he supposed to do? When he wakes up feeling soft and fuzzy with love filling his heart and silly little ideas bouncing around his head and _without_ Moomintroll anywhere close to him to share any of it with?

So he writes, in tired, messy, overly loopy, nearly _illegible_ cursive about a million things he can’t share yet but wants to. He writes about his dreams. He writes that the loud-quiet sound of a forest waking up doesn’t sound quite right to him anymore. That it sounds _incomplete_ without the underscore of a second purr and a second heartbeat and a second set of quiet breaths accompanying his own that he’s grown used to. He writes that the marshmallows he had shared with another traveler are really _very_ similar to Moomintroll himself, if one thinks about it, all soft and sweet and _good._ He writes that he feels almost like the sun is rising in his chest instead of outside his tent because he had a dream where Moomintroll smiled at him and kissed him good morning. He draws shakey little figures of them holding paws and holding each other. He draws hundreds of little misshapen love hearts around a little doodle of Moomintroll--a doodle that really only amounted to a rough pile of circles vaguely in his shape that he’d written _“Moomintroll”_ underneath of, but a doodle nonetheless--because that’s the only thing his mind can come up when he thinks of how to describe how he’s feeling right then. He fills a page with just the words _“I love you”_ written over and over and over again.

It’s messy. It’s oh so messy and disorganized and imperfect. But it’s him and he’s never really been one for strict order anyways, so he supposes it fits well enough.

…

When spring draws close and it’s time to return to Moominvalley, Snufkin feels well-rested and unbearably excited.

 _He’s going to see Moomintroll again!_ It’s almost enough to make his heart burst out of his chest. It _is_ enough to start him sprinting as soon as he spots Moominhouse through the trees. He’s long given up attempting to act cool and unaffected during their reunion.

He spots Moomintroll waiting on their bridge and shouts his name with so much joy and relief he’s nearly surprised at the sound of it himself. Moomintroll is instantly sprinting towards him and shouting too.

A good few yards before they meet Snufkin forces himself to slow down just enough for him to shoulder off his pack and throw it to ground. Then, he charges across the remaining distance and _launches_ himself at Moomintroll.

He’s caught, of course, and spun around until they lose their balance and end up in a laughing, purring pile on the ground, tails looping together. It’s _wonderful._

He almost wants to stay here on the ground with Moomintroll forever. It feels _so_ good to be able to see him again after so long of him being nothing but a thought in his head, an unseen person on the other side of a letter, a good dream. He had spent the entire winter wandering and _experiencing_ the world. He wants to stay here and experience _Moomintroll._

But he has a gift for him. One that he’s nearly desperate to give him even as the intimacy of it all scares him.

“I have something for you,” he says.

“Your new spring tune?” he asks. There’s something in his voice that makes Snufkin think he knows that isn’t it.

“No,” he says. “Well-yes, I do have that, too. But I was speaking of something else. Something _better,_ I hope.” Snufkin refuses to use the question as the escape route it is likely intended as. He’s worked nearly an entire season on this gift and he’s determined to give it to him. Sure, he didn’t work as long as Moomintroll had on his, but he also didn’t have the luxury of being able to bind his own book after writing as many pages as he pleased. He had filled the journal cover to cover and there really was nowhere for anything else to be added.

“Something _better_ than your famous spring tunes? What could be better than a song you wrote while thinking of me?” he asks. Snufkin had confessed, years ago, that he almost always wrote his new songs with Moomintroll on his mind, especially nowadays. How could he not? Moomintroll is _always_ on his mind. Moomintroll had seemed rather happy at the revelation and had smiled a very special type of smile whenever he heard his spring tunes ever since.

It gives Snufkin hope and a boost of confidence to remember that. The journal really isn’t all that different from his spring tunes, now that he thinks about it. He places a piece of himself into them while he put them together and he does it while thinking of Moomintroll. They both showcase his emotions. It’s just that the journal is far less ambiguous about it and leaves him far less room to claim plausible deniability.

“Help me set up my campsite first?” he says. He’s _not_ backing out. He’s really not. He just wants his tent pitched and the rest of his campsite set up on the off chance he _does_ get the urge to turn tail and run. Moomintroll will have a much better shot at tackling him and convincing him he’s being an utter idiot about this whole thing if he has to pack everything up before he can leave.

Moomintroll, of course, agrees and they get his campsite up and running in almost no time at all, which is _far_ too fast for Snufkin’s tastes.

But still, he’s not backing out. He grabs his harmonica and the journal and asks Moomintroll to follow him. He saw a very nice, very _secluded_ hollow on his way back that he thinks is just _perfect_ for this. Of course, he loves the bridge and the spot he camps out on and it _would_ be very symbolic for him to give it to Moomintroll there, but it would _also_ feel incredibly public and he just can’t do that right now. He’s already flustered enough as it is.

On the way, he manages to play his new spring tune for Moomintroll without dropping the journal. It’s a good tune. He wouldn’t say that it was overly happy, as some of his tunes had been. But it also isn’t overly sad either. It feels… _comfortable,_ almost. Like worn in clothing and just right beds and laughs between kisses. It feels comfortable but also it feels _new,_ somehow. Like a realization that’s not, not _really._ Like a beloved blanket forgotten on the top shelf of the linen closet and only rediscovered later when the owner has changed shape. Like returning to a familiar lover after you’ve gone and changed on a journey and see things just a bit differently now. Like something known, but still surprising, still exciting, still _different_ than what you expect in little ways.

It’s nice. And Moomintroll is smiling at him with that specific smile. He looks like a complete _sap,_ really, but he doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s a good look on him. He’s not any better himself, anyways.

It’s another perfect moment and he doesn’t want it to end. But eventually they reach the hollow he was leading them towards and he’s forced to slip his harmonica into his pocket.

He turns to Moomintroll. He’s trying his best not let his face heat up again. They’re alone. There is absolutely _no_ need for him to be flustered about showing his feelings to Moomintroll. He’s the one person he _should_ be showing his feelings to. And he’d had no problems doing so just a bit ago so he really shouldn’t be having any now. He can do this. He’s confident he can do this.

“Moomintroll,” he says his name like it’s a prayer, a plea for him to understand all the things he can’t say, “you really do have the _best_ ideas sometimes, my dove.” He probably sounds a tiny bit awestruck saying that. He doesn’t care. Moomintroll is _amazing_ and he deserves to know that he thinks so.

“When I was reading through your gift I realized that, sometimes, it really _did_ almost feel like you were there with me. And then I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if I could do something like that for _you,_ my dove? Give you something to properly keep you company while I’m away?” He chooses not to mention that he had also been having some very distressing thoughts when he'd had that realization. Right now Moomintroll is smiling at him like he’s what makes the spring flowers bloom and he doesn’t want to think about anything else besides how beautiful he is.

“So I,” his breath catches in his throat and he has swallow before he can continue, “I made you this,” he says, holding out the journal. He almost doesn’t let it go when Moomintroll reaches put to take it from him, but he does do it.

Moomintroll holds his heart in his paws now. Well, he _always_ has, really. But this so much more literal and much, much more difficult to deal with.

It’ll be fine, though. It always is. Moomintroll has always been delicate with his heart.

It’s just difficult watching him flip through the pages and waiting for him to say something, even if he knows his eventual response will be positive. The uptick in the purr he’s hearing would be enough to tell him that even if he hadn’t already talked himself through this a thousand and one times. He doesn’t want to rush him though, so Snufkin tries to patient. At least the slight blush that has risen on his face is cute.

He really, _really,_ understands why Moomintroll had reacted to him reacting to his own gift the way he had now. If Moomintroll started crying right now Snufkin doesn’t _what_ he would do.

After a long moment, _too_ long of a moment in Snufkin’s slightly panicked opinion, Moomintroll breaks the silence.

“...Snufkin…” he says, and he sounds a little awed too.

Then, Moomintroll lets out a soft, lovestruck breath. Snufkin sees him open his mouth like he’s going to say something and comes to the sudden realization that it’s probably going to be something _unbelievably_ soft and sweet. He also comes to the sudden realization that he is not at _all_ prepared for that and actually will _not_ be able to handle it right now if he _does_ say something like that.

So, obviously, he has to beat him to the punch.

So, _obviously,_ he steps forward and presses his lips to Moomintroll’s snout in a soft, sweet, _perfect_ hybrid kiss. He feels his chest vibrate in a purr to join Moomintroll’s own.

“I think about you all the time, dove,” he says with quiet desperation. He _needs_ Moomintroll to understand this. “Always. Even when we’re apart. _Especially_ when we’re apart. As surely as the sun rises I’ll never stop,” he says and he’s quite frankly surprised he’s not turning bright red in the face right now, but his entire world has narrowed down to just Moomintroll for the moment and he’s not about to pass up the opportunity to say this.

Snufkin finds a paw with his own and brings it up to his lips for a mumrik kiss. He’s holding on a little too desperately, a little too tightly, he’s sure, but he can’t stop himself. “I love you, Moomintroll,” he says like it’s the only thing that matters. And maybe it is.

This time it’s Moomintroll who’s flustered to pieces, blushing up a storm with a purr rising in his chest and a smile on his lips and hopelessly unable to speak. Snufkin thinks he looks absolutely _adorable_ like that. He gets why Moomintroll tries to flusters him so much if he even looks _half_ as cute.

But Snufkin forgets, just for a moment, that Moomintroll is much better at handling his emotions than he is. So he’s a little surprised when he recovers far more quickly than Snufkin himself ever has.

“Oh, _Snufkin,”_ he says, sounding so happy and sweet that Snufkin can already feel his own blush rising and his purr getting louder just from Moomintroll saying his _name,_ “I love you too. And you probably know, since you read the letter I wrote you, but I think about about you all the time too. I dreamed about you through my entire hibernation and they were the _best_ dreams I could hope for. I woke up with my heart already full of so much warmth and joy and _love.”_

Snufkin is sure his face is at least entirely pink now, if not red. But he’s not flustered enough that he can barely stand it right now, so he supposes that’s all he can really ask for.

And then Moomintroll leans in to kiss him in their perfect hybrid style and he finds he doesn’t care about just how red his face is, or really anything else at all.

The kiss feels like a sunrise, gentle and warm and _promising._ Promising an entire day, an entire _life,_ spent doing whatever makes them happiest.

Snufkin would almost, _almost,_ say the kiss feels like _home._ But that’s a very scary thought for someone like him and he thinks he’s been brave enough for today. So, not for the first time, he lets that thought fall to back of his mind without really ever _thinking_ it. He would get there someday.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Feel free to come scream at me over on my [tumblr](https://stingerpicnic.tumblr.com/)! I promise I'm friendly.


End file.
